Chapter 1 – West
Turned out, Rory Sullivan, the New York lawyer who’d been waiting at the airport, was not a guy. And she had the prettiest nipples I’d ever seen. How the hell did I know that? Because I was eyeing them, watching as they hardened in the cool air of her hotel room.
“You going to look or are you going to touch?” she asked, reaching up and taking off my Stetson. She tossed it somewhere behind me as I continued to take in those hard tips.
Fuck if that ballsy question didn’t make my dick hard. Harder.
I had one hand braced on the door above her head. I was close, but not touching. We hadn’t made it any further into the room before I spun her to face the door, slid the zipper down the back of her high-powered dress and pushed it down to her hips. Next went the catch on her bra and when I turned her back around, it fell right off.
She was a tiny thing and my head was tilted down to take her all in, but I lifted my gaze from her spectacular rack to her green eyes.
“You going to stop with the sass or am I going to have to make you?” I asked.
Her eyes flared with a mixture of determination, fury and need at my question.
This hate/fuck banter had been going on since baggage claim. She’d come to Montana a day early for a meeting at Wainright Holdings but had decided a ride on a cowboy’s dick was a way to kick the trip off.
I was more than happy to oblige, as long as it was mine she was climbing on.
I’d figured her out pretty quickly. Walking into the baggage area I’d found the New Yorker my sister, North, asked me to collect and entertain. Except she hadn’t been a guy. She’d been in a slim cut dress that screamed big city. It had a conservative cut meant for a Connecticut country club filled with stodgy rich folk, except it showed off every curve of her pint-sized body. If that wasn’t enough, she wore a pair of ruthless heels that did plenty for her legs. It had been the phone connected to her head like a teenager and the way her toe tapped on the industrial carpet that clinched my thoughts about her.
Rory Sullivan, the sexy as fuck power broker, was a wound tight, sexy siren who’d made my dick hard from across the luggage conveyor belt. I’d instantly wanted to fuck the high-maintenance, East coast workaholic, who, by the half of the conversation I’d been able to overhear, probably wore a string of weak men’s balls as a necklace.
Maybe that had been it, her I’m in fucking charge attitude that was so out of place here in Big Sky country. I wanted to bend her to my will. Get her on her knees. Fuck that priss right out of her. Make her forget the names of her clients as well as her own.
To rule her world.
I’d gone to the airport in the first place because my sister had discovered I was in town to do my monthly big-box store shopping and had asked. I spent my days in the saddle and no doubt she wanted me to have a conversation with a real person instead of a horse. She was worried about me now that she—a ball buster herself—had found Jed Barnett.
North didn’t have to worry. Fuck, no. I could deal with people when I wanted. One sexy one in particular, especially naked.
I doubted North envisioned this kind of Welcome to Montana from me, but she sure as shit couldn’t complain I wasn’t being attentive. I’d headed us toward my favorite burger restaurant, intending to feed Rory dinner and drop her off at her hotel. Instead, she’d said she wanted a different kind of meat… no, she hadn’t said that exactly. But something else just as bold that’d had me turning my truck toward her hotel and instead of leaving her at the entrance, escorted her to her room.
And out of her bra.
Rory’s small hands went to my belt buckle as she eyed me. Tipped her chin up when she reached in and—
I hissed at the aggressive tug. “You might have your hand around my dick,” I told her, leaning down to kiss those sassy lips. She moaned and I took the kiss deep. I tangled my fingers in her long hair. Pulled a little when she gave me a rough stroke. “But if you think you’re in charge…”
I couldn’t say much more than that, because fuck me her hand felt good. Her grip was firm as it slid up and down the shaft. The swipe of her thumb over the tip was like heaven. I was going to come like a guy who hadn’t fucked in a while.
I’d assumed I was too old for the stranger-fucking routine, but she’d changed my mind. I was content about this one-off. I didn’t do more, especially with a woman from the East coast. I’d dated—and fallen for—one in college, wanted more and gotten burned. Not fucking happening again.
“You sure about that?” she replied, sounding pretty happy with bringing a six-four man to his knees.
Because I did just that, dropped to my knees on the rug in front of her, tugged the dress down her hips and it pooled around her ankles. She kicked it free and there she was, a little firecracker in ruthless stilettos and a black lace thong.
The corner of my mouth tipped up. “That wet spot makes me feel pretty confident.”
I ran a knuckle over the damp gusset and she sucked in a breath.
She was so fucking pretty. Flushed and silky soft, sweet scented and… I slid that scrap of fabric to the side, leaned in and licked up her seam. Yeah, she tasted sweet too.
“I’m always in charge,” she breathed, then gave a little whimper.
“Why are you here, half pint?” I wanted to see how long she could hold a conversation while I was licking her pussy.
“Montana? Or with you?”
“I close this deal, I make partner. As for you—” She actually shrugged. “—you’re hot and you’re probably better than the vibrator I’ve got in my suitcase.”
My dick punched against my jeans at the thought of her in bed, legs parted and working herself with vibrating silicone. I pushed aside the thoughts of her ruthless focus on the corner office.
“Something this pretty needs more than hardware,” I said, then licked her again. “Montana’s a little out of your comfort zone. No skyscrapers or weak men to crush beneath those heels. So you want to feel back in charge, getting me to come to your room. Use me for your orgasms.”
Her eyes flared and she blushed.
Her clit was swollen and shiny and I ran the tip of my tongue around it.
“I’m fine with the last. Hell, I’m on my knees. But I run this show.” I screwed a finger into her dripping pussy. Fuck, she was tight.
“Weston,” she breathed.
If she didn’t believe me, I was going to prove it to her.
Then her cell rang.
I pulled back, ran my tongue over my lips. I hadn’t even realized she still had her phone in her hand, as if it was glued to it.
Looking up at her, I arched a brow. “You gonna answer that while I eat your pussy?”
She looked at me with a blurry gaze, then at the screen. Then back at me. “I need to–”
“Come all over my face,” I finished for her. Yeah, if she was considering answering a work call now, I sure as shit had my work cut out for me.
“I’m here for work.”
“Yeah, I got that. Corner office. The meeting’s tomorrow, half pint.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she countered, the cell still ringing.
“Because I don’t have a college degree or because I ride a horse for work instead of the subway?” All she knew was that a Wainright ranch hand was to pick her up. Not a Wainright himself. I didn’t lie about my name back at the airport, but I was technically a fucking ranch hand. Except I ran my own ranch. I wore the hat. The jeans. The big belt buckle. If the snap shirt fit…
She was a lawyer, here for a meeting with the legal team at corporate. I didn’t ask her details about whatever contract or legal paperwork they were going to review because I didn’t give a shit about the family business. North ran that show. I’d wanted no part in it, when Macon had been alive and even now.
“Don’t lose your nerve now, half pint,” I told her. “You might have to work, but this takes multitasking to a whole new level.”
Her eyes narrowed, as if I’d insulted her. As if giving in to me meant she gave up in general. She raised her phone, swiped the screen then brought it to her ear as if more to fuck with me than anything else.
I was taking in the perks of a quality pussy waxing while she talked to another man.
“Yes, I’m aware of the issue with the clause and am prepared.” She looked at me as she spoke.
Game. Fucking. On.
If this was how she wanted me to eat her out, talking to some asshole named Mike, then fine. I would have taken my time with her pussy, settled in for a while, but hell no. I was getting this woman off like it was my job.
Her thong was so skimpy, it took one tug to rip it away. The scrap slid down around her right ankle. Hooking her leg, I tossed it over my shoulder and went to work. Her pussy was dripping, hot and fucking perfect.
“Yes,” she said, talking to the man on the phone but the roll of her hips indicated it might have been for me.
One of my hands cupped her ass, the other slid up the inside of her thigh, smearing her arousal over my palm. With my mouth on her clit, I slipped a finger—a big, ranch hand callused finger—into her tight pussy and curled it. Her hips rolled as if she were reaching for that orgasm.
Her angry gaze hazed and she whimpered.
I could hear a voice through the phone but not the words. I couldn’t help but smirk.
“You’ll have to figure it out on your own. I have something urgent here,” she said, although her voice was more lusty than legal. “Yes. No. Yes.”
She came while on a fucking work call, her pussy clenching and milking my finger, her eagerness for more dripping down to my palm as her little clit swelled and pulsed beneath my tongue. Her heel against my back dug in.
Her arm fell to her side as if she couldn’t hold it up. I pulled back to take it from her, made sure that call was done. My finger was still inside her, still rubbing that spot that had her hips rolling and her eyes falling closed.
I didn’t want to tear my gaze away from watching her give over, because she was fucking incredible like this, but I had to power that fucking phone down and toss it over my shoulder—the one that didn’t have her knee bent over it.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” I told her. I licked my lips and savored that sticky honey. “You’re going to come again as you sit on my face. Then bend over the bed and take my dick nice and deep. Those stilts can stay on, but that’s the last time you’ll think about a fucker named Mike. Or work. Or anything but how my dick’s going to fill you up. The only name you’ll say for the next few hours is mine. You’ll go to that meeting tomorrow, prepared like I’m sure you already fucking are, with a sore pussy as a reminder that you might be the boss in the boardroom, but when you’re with me, you give over.”
“I need to hear the words, half pint. Say, ‘Yes, Weston.’”
I may have pushed, but I had a feeling this woman needed someone to take charge, even for a little bit. Here, in a hotel room in Montana, two time zones away from her real life, was a safe place to do just that.
Yeah, she was different like this. All soft and pliant. Sated and flushed. I meant what I said. An overworked, wound tight woman who needed to wind that shit down and get out of her head? I was the man for the job. It was a role I never knew I ever wanted and that was a fucking problem.